


no-good group of idolizing fools

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes)



Series: dimension 20 [83]
Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Animal Death, Babies, Campaign 01 Season 02: Fantasy High Sophomore Year (Dimension 20), Campaign 05: A Crown of Candy, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, Hurt With Minimal Comfort, Minor Character Death, the attack of port syrup from cinnamon's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife
Summary: A 300-ish word drabble foreach day ofthe Dimension 20 Alphabet.Chapter 1: A: attack,alone, audienceChapter 2: B: books, beach,ballChapter 3: D:dragon, dare, dreamChapter 4: J: jitters,joy, jealousy
Relationships: Amethar Rocks & Ruby Rocks & Jet Rocks, Figueroth Faeth/Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Liam Wilhelmina Jawbreaker & Peppermint Preston, Theobald Gumbar & Liam Wilhelmina Jawbreaker
Series: dimension 20 [83]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706107
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: Dimension 20 Alphabet 2021





	1. Liam + "alone"

**Author's Note:**

> work title is paraphrased from crazy world (judgement day) by jameston revival

Preston’s gone. Preston’s... gone. Preston is. Gone.

Liam sits in the carriage and cries—and he knows he’s crying because his face is wet and his eyes sting and when he breathes he makes a little hiccupy noise and—and he’s. Alone. Because Preston’s gone.

He mouths the words over and over, _Preston’s gone Preston’s gone Preston’s gone_ but no matter how fast he says them they don’t sound right, his tongue can’t wrap around them, because _Preston can’t be gone_.

Preston can’t be gone because if Preston’s gone then Liam’s alone because Preston was his only friend and all of his brothers suck and he’s so far away from his home and his mom and there are so many people who want to kill him for one stupid spell and why are spells against the law anyway that’s so stupid and _his_ spell saved the king and if people are willing to kill the king what problems are they going to have with one Count who doesn’t even _live_ here, and if he’s alone he’s going to _die_ —

There’s a hand on his shoulder. It’s the size of his head and very heavy and it snaps Liam out of his spiral as much as he can be snapped out of it when it feels like his whole body is cold and wet and he’s still crying—

Theo doesn’t say anything because nobody is saying anything because Lapin is dead and _Preston is gone_ and the only sound in the carriage right now is Liam’s crying, but he keeps his paw on Liam’s shoulder. 

He moves his arm so that Liam could lean into his side, if he wanted, and Theo’s armor is really cold and the metal is hard and pointy in some places but _Preston’s gone_ and Liam curls up with Theo’s arm around him and maybe if he closes his eyes and pretends _very hard_ , the cold metal armor could be Preston’s minty-cold peach fuzz.


	2. Fig/Fabian + "ball"

Fabian waits just outside the ballroom. He doesn’t adjust his mask, because his mask is perfect, but he does catch his reflection in the filigree of the door handles and preen for a moment.

The announcer finishes the last of his titles, and he steps through, and begins descending the stairs

Fig watches the newest arrival enter. They’re wearing a mask that ‘ornate’ doesn’t quite cover; a gleaming white swan, accented with gold detailing. It connects to what she thinks might be real swan feathers worked into their white hair, that connects down into a feathered cowl that perfectly matches their gown. 

The feathers taper off at the shoulder and the entire front is glittering with silver—gems? Glass? Fig can’t tell, but where it should be gaudy, they manage to pull it off. She starts as she realizes that they’re not just moving toward the snack table (which is so big it takes up a whole wall of the ballroom) but gliding towards _her_. 

Fabian looks over the crowd as he crosses the last step. He can recognize a number of the people here, and makes note of which ones to talk to later. His gaze catches on one person in particular, though, that he doesn’t recognize. 

They’re wearing a black silk suit with just the faintest red embroidery, but that’s not what catches his eye—though the detail work is impressive, even from this distance. Their mask… It’s a grotesque thing, really, the twisted face of a devil snarling at anyone who looks at it, painted matte except for metallic red lines that only add to the already sharp lines. That… _that_ is the mask of somebody Fabian would like very much to get to know.

“Fabian Seacaster,” he says, holding out a gloved hand.

“I heard,” they say, and look awkwardly down at the small plate of snacks in their hand, “Sorry about that, I, uh, wouldn’t want to get your uh. Gloves. Dirty. Fig.”

“What?”

“My name! That’s my name, Fig, that’s me,” Fig says, and she wants to just give up and wipe her hands on her suit but Gorgug might _actually_ kill her for ruining it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [fig's suit](https://www.aliexpress.com/item/32858855810.html)   
>  [fabian's dress](https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=http%3A%2F%2Forig03.deviantart.net%2F96de%2Ff%2F2015%2F057%2Ff%2F4%2Fswan_lake_ball_gown_by_lillyxandra-d8jl7iu.jpg&f=1&nofb=1)


	3. Cinnamon + "dragon"

Cinnamon is _hungry_. He and his mother fly and fly and fly and the souls he eats only seem to widen the cavern within him. They taste bitter-warm and it’s intoxicating and all too soon the ground around them is empty of anything but ash and he _whines_ , low and loud, because he’s _hungry_. 

His mother pats his nose and murmurs reassurances and he huffs warmth through his nose at the touch of her cold hands—sneezes, once, when the still flaking-frost from one of her spells lands on his scales. She laughs when he sneezes, and he tilts his snout sideways. _Food?_

“We’ll… we’ll see,” his mother says. Cinnamon frowns, and huffs, but snaps out his wings nonetheless as she climbs on. 

Cinnamon flies. There are people marching below him, small people, and if they were his mother he would let them fly with him, but they are not, so they march. He flies with them, though, because his mother said to stay with them, and if he stays with them he gets food. 

They stop at places, like he and his mother do, and he eats, but they are snacks, they are specks, they are barely a taste on his tongue. Cinnamon eats and he grows and he gets hungry, and hungry, and hungry.

Soon, they arrive at Port Syrup. Or, Cinnamon does, because even pacing his flight he is faster than the people marching below. As he circles, his shadow darkens the streets filled with bright-bitter-warm souls, and there are screams, and Cinnamon is _so hungry_. No one can begrudge him an early beginning. This is why he is here, yes?

He dives, and breathes a stream of fire, and lands. He pounces on the running, screaming, fleeing souls, and _consumes_. There are so many. There are _so many_ , there are more than he has seen in one place since he has hatched. He comes to a place where the bitter-warm bundles have clustered, and there is a small person standing in the doorway. Cinnamon tilts his head at it. Blinks. Breathes his fire.

The burnt armor now melted into the ground will not satisfy him, and there is no point wasting effort digging the person out. He turns, and begins tearing his way through the remains of wood and stone and wall to the cluster of squirming souls. 

Perhaps, now, he will begin to feel full.


	4. amethar + "joy"

Amethar looks down at Jet, held in his left arm. She’s so tiny- she doesn’t even take up the length of his forearm, she’s so small, and he’s struck by how perfectly she fits in his arms, and he breathes out the instinct to wrap her up in a crushing hug because she’s a tiny, breakable infant.

She has the tiniest, wispiest little licorice curls, and round cheeks, and she’s sleeping peacefully. Finally. She has his lungs, Caramelinda said, when Jet came into the world _screaming_. He’d been worried, at first, because babies aren’t meant to be _that_ loud, right? 

But his baby Jet just has powerful lungs and isn’t afraid to use them, and he thinks, _his baby_ _Jet_ , and he can feel himself tearing up again. 

In his other arm, Ruby shifts. Ruby, just as tiny and round, but whose wispy curls are a bright red to Jet’s black. She’s the restless one out of the two of them, even though she was quiet as a mouse in comparison. She opens her eyes, a pale pink eyes and stares up at him, before her face scrunches up. 

Amethar widens his own eyes as she gears up to cry, and glances at Caramelinda- who is sleeping after ten hours of labor, and glances back at Ruby. Starts rocking her, gently, and as soon as she catches sight of her sister, still asleep, she closes her mouth. Her demand is clear, and he carefully maneuvers Ruby so both of his daughters are squished together in his left arm. 

Jet blinks open her eyes just long enough to see that Ruby is there, before she closes them again. Ruby settles not long after that, and Amethar struck by memories of his sisters. 

Citrina and her insistence on breaking Lazuli’s aloof bubble of space to plop down into her lap, displacing whatever book she’d been reading. Sapphria stealing Rococoa’s clothes purely to outrun her as Rococoa chased her through the castle to get them back. 

For once, the aching pang of loss is overshadowed by a wave of warmth. 

“They would love you,” he whispers to his daughters.


End file.
